


Blackbird, Sing

by PottersPink



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Guilt, M/M, POV Gwaine (Merlin), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Worth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28699200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PottersPink/pseuds/PottersPink
Summary: Blackbirds haven’t been seen in Camelot since before The Great Purge. So it's strange, then, that Gwaine finds one in the woods while on patrol.
Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 179





	Blackbird, Sing

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly thought this wouldn't be more than 2k when I started this last week. 
> 
> But here we are!
> 
> Big thank you to Jiang for the major ass whooping she gave this fic. Many commas were harmed during the editing of this story.
> 
> note: in this story all blackbirds have the same colouring

Time is a funny thing. 

Every morning Gwaine wakes up feeling as though Morgana’s reign had all just happened the day before, yet by midday it feels as though he’s been dragging himself through mud for weeks. The sun’s been shining, there’s been a royal wedding, the people are smiling and selling their wares in the market as though nothing has changed — and Gwaine can’t even look at a loaf of bread without imagining the thing is covered in mould. 

It figures that of all the things to keep him awake at night, it’s the mouldy bread. But then again, maybe that’s just the thing that finally managed to topple Gwaine’s carefully stacked pile of _things we don’t think about_ tucked away in the back of his mind. Compartmentalization was never going to work in the long term, but living the way he had been, Gwaine hadn’t really thought that _longterm_ was going to be a very long time, anyhow. 

He ducks his head and sighs. _Made your bed a long time ago,_ he thinks. _Time to fucking deal with it._

Out in the halls, the other knights are talking and laughing — Gwaine checks the light outside and realizes that it’s time he should be getting ready for training. He sighs again and stretches his arms over his head, and tries to work the stiffness out of his bones. 

*

Gwaine drops onto the ground next to Merlin with a groan. Arthur, the royal pain in the ass that he is, had unfortunately noticed Gwaine’s sluggishness and unsurprisingly called on him to be his sparring partner for the better part of an hour. The rest of the knights are across the field, roughhousing and laughing.

“You alright?” Merlin asks, putting down the cloth he was using to polish some armour. “You look exhausted.”

“Been better,” Gwaine admits. At first it had unsettled him, that he found it so easy to admit these things to Merlin, but years later the feeling is long gone. He closes his eyes and lets the sun warm his skin, folding his hands together over his middle. “The weather’s nice today.”

Merlin hums in agreement, but Gwaine still doesn’t hear him pick up his cloth to continue working. Instead, calloused fingers touch Gwaine’s jaw and turn his head in Merlin’s direction. Gwaine squints his eyes open to see Merlin giving him a searching look. “What is it?” Gwaine asks.

Merlin doesn’t say anything for a moment, just shifts his hand up to cup Gwaine’s face properly. Gwaine smiles up at him and waggles his brows, which does make Merlin crack a tiny smile. “Do you have any plans tonight?”

“Nothing that can’t be done tomorrow,” Gwaine replies. 

“I suppose The Rising Sun won’t miss you for one night,” Merlin teases. He takes his hand away, and Gwaine misses his touch almost immediately, but there’s no need to attract the attention of the rest of the knights still on the field. “I’ll bring supper up to your chambers for us. I don’t remember the last time we had an evening to ourselves.”

Gwaine brows shoot to his hairline. “You’ve a free evening?” It’s a pleasant surprise, since in the weeks after the wedding Merlin’s been running around like a madman trying to sort out all of the lords and ladies and kings and queens that have come to wish the new couple well. 

“Well, no,” Merlin answers sheepishly. “But Arthur will survive one night without me. And Gwen will have my back.”

Gwaine is so incredibly fond of this man. “You’re mad,” he tells Merlin, and he can’t help the incredulous laugh from slipping out. 

Merlin shrugs. “What’s he going to do? Throw me in the stocks? You’ll just come and get me out.”

“Aye,” Gwaine replies, feeling lighter than he has in a week. The misery from earlier in the day is gone, knowing that he’ll have hours to spend with Merlin later. “But if he finds out you’re skipping out on your duties to spend time with me, it'll make breaking you out of the stocks a little more difficult because I'll be right there with you.”

*

Another week passes, and while Gwaine still has some unpleasant dreams and can’t bring himself to eat more than a single piece of bread, he feels better. More energized than he has in a while and happier still to have had not one, but two evenings with Merlin. 

“I think Gwen may have convinced Arthur to give me more time to myself,” Merlin tells him over dinner. “She knows _why_ I’ve been so busy — They’re dealing with all of these dignitaries who want to kiss up to the new king and queen on top of trying to help rebuild the lower towns and part of the citadel.” Merlin ducks his head and tugs on the hem of his shirt sleeve. His expression turns somber, his smile a small, mournful thing. “He’s been so focused on everything happening around him that I don’t think he’s really let himself slow down and process Agravain’s betrayal.”

Gwaine never really knows what to say when Merlin gets like this. He’s got the feeling no matter what, it would make him a hypocrite. There’s guilt and helplessness and shame. The both of them know the feelings well — although Gwaine can’t say for sure that he knows what inspires them in Merlin. The two of them are quite the mess, it seems. 

Merlin shakes himself and lifts his head to look back at Gwaine. “Anyways, that’s — Well, that’s not really a good topic for discussion, is it? I doubt Gwen would be pleased if she found out I spent my evening off moping,” He smiles at Gwaine apologetically. “She _is_ suspicious of how much time we spend together, though. She’s probably going to badger me about it in the morning.”

Gwaine chuckles and tosses a piece of fruit into his mouth. “I don’t think we’ve been that subtle.”

Merlin quirks a brow and grins at him from across the table, but there’s something about it that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe,” he concedes. “But I think you’d be surprised by what goes unnoticed around here.”

*

Another week later and Gwaine thinks that perhaps he’s finally managed to shake the misery that’s been nipping at his heels for months. _And good fucking riddance,_ he thinks, as he throws together everything he’s going to need into his pack. 

“Gwaine.” Merlin sticks his head through the open doorway and _then_ knocks. Gwaine adores him. “You’re heading out on patrol?”

“Yup,” he answers, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in his voice. It’ll be good to get out of the city, even if it means leaving Merlin behind for a little while. “Leave at first light.”

Merlin closes the door behind him and comes closer; some of Gwaine’s thoughts must be written on his face, because Merlin’s smile softens and leans in to press a kiss to Gwaine’s cheek. “I’m glad. I know you’ve been restless.” He falls backwards onto the bed and sighs. “You probably won’t even miss me,” he accuses Gwaine, although there is a definite glint in his eye that dares Gwaine to prove him wrong. 

Gwaine laughs and shoves his pack off the bed and onto the floor. He crawls up onto the mattress and straddles Merlin’s hips, leans down to kiss him. “Actually, I am _quite_ certain that it will be _you_ that won’t be missing _me._ It’s an easy patrol, and we’re taking some new recruits with us. You know how Arthur likes to ease them into it.”

“Ugh,” Merlin grumbles. “Why are you talking about Arthur easing into things right now?”

Gwaine grins and slides his hands under Merlin’s shirt. Merlin hisses at the cool touch of his fingers and swats at him. “I’ll enjoy myself at first, but by the third day I’ll probably be bored silly. I’ll be spending most of my time thinking about how I’d rather be here with you.” Gwaine leans in for another kiss. “You, on the other hand, will probably be working all day and all night long, and by the third day, you’ll have forgotten I exist.”

Merlin laughs, eyes crinkling in a way that Gwaine loves. He drops his hands onto Gwaine’s thighs and watches him, eyes warm and cheeks pink. “I don’t think I could ever forget you, Gwaine.”

The sincerity that slips through makes Gwaine feel a rush of… a lot. It makes the pile of _things we don’t think about_ tremble a little, which in turn makes Gwaine want to scoff, because what he has with Merlin is a good thing. It’s possibly the _best_ thing. But, well _—_ what’s he ever done to deserve it?

_Fuck it all,_ Gwaine curses silently. _Where did that come from?_ His fingers curl into fists, making the sudden shift in his mood difficult to conceal.

“Gwaine?” Merlin asks, a slight furrow between his brows. He’s lifted himself up on his elbows and is staring intently at Gwaine. “What’s wrong?”

Gwaine jolts a little, and whatever is in his expression only makes Merlin’s frown deepen. Gwaine shakes himself and huffs a laugh, tries for a little smile. “Sorry,” he says. “Sorry. I’m going to miss you, is all.”

Merlin relaxes back onto the bed and the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. “You’re not gone yet,” he says and pulls Gwaine down by the front of his shirt. “And there are still hours left of the night.”

*

They’re taking a break to eat and let the horses drink from a stream when Gwaine decides he should refill his own canteens a little ways upstream. He’s opening his pack to pull them out when he notices a patch of red fabric at the bottom he doesn’t remember throwing in. 

Leon squints at him from where he’s digging through his own pack when he hears Gwaine laugh. “What is it? You’ve got a ridiculous look on your face.”

“Nothing,” Gwaine says, but he’s smiling like a loon, and Leon clearly doesn’t buy it. “Just something from Merlin.”

“Ah,” Leon says, and turns a little pink. _See? Not so subtle, Merlin._ Gwaine carefully refolds the neckerchief and puts it back in his pack.

*

The patrol was supposed to have been easy. 

Gwaine and Leon had lead the knights east through the Forest of Ascetir and then south through the Ridge. There’d been a few scuffles, but nothing out of the ordinary and nothing they couldn’t handle without suffering a few scrapes. 

Coming up to the border of Ascetir and Brechfa, however, they found a village nearly burnt to the ground. 

The bodies of the villagers — men, women, children — were broken and bruised, clearly dead for days. Leon had called the knights to draw their weapons and attack. The mercenary group responsible for the carnage had been large enough and skilled enough that the fight was a challenge, even for Gwaine. 

They’d been outnumbered, and they ended up losing a couple of the knights. All reports in the past month had been good, and there had been no rumours whispered amongst the other knights about any kind of unrest. _So where the fuck did they come from?_

And now Gwaine sits at the fire of their camp, four days out of the battle. They spent two days in the village, burying the dead — villagers and knights alike. Everytime he closes his eyes, he’s met with the same vision: the light leaving Oswald’s eyes, and the sword protruding from Timothy’s throat. _Their first goddamned patrol._

He whips the stone he was holding into the fire. It makes the kindling collapse, crumble to ashes — “I’m going to collect more firewood,” he says, heaving himself to his feet.

They don’t need any more firewood; it’s well past dark and most knights save the ones assigned watch are asleep. Leon watches him from his post at the edge of camp with dark circles under his eyes, and nods at him with a grim expression on his face. “Don’t be gone too long.”

Gwaine doesn’t bother replying.

*

It’s quiet, which is good and bad. Good because Gwaine can try and clear his head; bad because he’s very aware of the _things we don’t think about._ Seeing the men — they were men, but _so fucking young —_ die struck a chord this time. He doesn’t know why, he’s seen plenty of men die before.

It wasn’t really Gwaine’s responsibility — it wasn’t even Leon’s as first knight. All of the men that came with them on patrol were knights, _are_ knights, and they knew what they were signing up for. This was just a stroke of bad luck. 

Enough bad luck to make him wonder what the fuck he’s doing in Camelot, though.

Gwaine comes upon a brook and drops himself onto the ground next to it. He drops his head in his hands and tugs his hair, hard. “Gods _damn it all,”_ he says, hushed. The good mood that had finally found him in the weeks leading up to the patrol is gone. 

He sits there for a while, pulling Merlin’s neckerchief out from his pocket and holding it tightly in his hand. _Lords,_ how much he wishes he were with Merlin right now _—_ and he stays at the brook longer than he probably should have, but he does find that he’s calmer when he stands up. Still angry, still grieving, but — he feels as though maybe some of the fog in his mind is lifted, that he can breathe and see clearer. The worst has already fucking happened, and he’s still got to keep going. 

He picks his way through the trees, keeping his eyes on the faint glow of the camp ahead. The woods are almost completely silent, so he doesn’t know what it is that makes him stop. 

There’s no noise, no smell, no movement in the corner of his eye; he simply stops where he stands and looks to the ground at his right. 

In a patch of moonlight, a small bird stares up at him with gold-rimmed eyes. 

For a moment, all Gwaine can do is stare. The colour is a little shocking against the matte black of its feathers, and Gwaine remembers someone once saying that early on in the purge, Uther had gathered up all of the blackbirds that lived in the royal gardens and had them killed because their golden eyes were too similar to magic. Gwaine doesn’t know if the birds ever had any actual symbolic meaning to magic users, though. 

Eventually, when it came time for birds to migrate back in the spring, blackbirds just… didn’t. They stopped coming to Camelot at all. _So what is this one doing here?_

Gwaine stares down at the bird, and the bird stares up at him; its wings are flat on the ground, but he doesn’t think it’s injured, just tired. He can’t really say what it is that makes him do it — it feels a little bit like guilt, but no one will hear him say it — but he drops to his knees and he gently scoops the bird into his palms and holds it to his chest. It doesn’t make a sound as he walks the rest of the way back to camp. 

Leon isn’t at his post when Gwaine steps into the clearing, having made the switch with a couple of other knights already — Gwaine had been gone longer than he’d realized, then — and those on watch barely spare him a glance. Gwaine crawls into his tent and gently places the bird on the ground next to the top of his bedroll. 

“At least you won’t be caught by any foxes in here,” he tells the bird as he curls up on his side. 

*

The bird is still there in the morning. Gwaine thinks it may have even shuffled a little closer, of all things, but that’s fine with him.

It hops about Gwaine’s tent, happy as can be,and Gwaine supposes that it’ll be on its merry way as soon as he opens his tent. But instead, all it does is follow him around and occasionally flap its wings as though attempting to fly. It doesn’t sing at all.

“You’ve made a friend.” Leon arches a brow at him. It’s not _quite_ a statement — Gwaine can hear the _what the fuck_ underneath it all. Gwaine only shrugs. 

“Found’im last night,” he says. “Thought he was injured and figured I could keep the foxes away for a night.”

Leon’s expression turns a little pitying and a lot knowing, so Gwaine pastes on a smile and says, “He’s not very good at being a bird, is he?”

They both look down at the blackbird and watch as it tries repeatedly to fly, only managing a few feet before tumbling to the ground. 

“It’s very quiet for a blackbird,” Leon observes. 

“Maybe he just doesn’t have anything to say,” Gwaine replies. “Although I’ve heard that blackbirds don’t have much reason to sing in Camelot anymore.” 

Leon grimaces a little and turns away. “Help pack up camp,” he calls over his shoulder. “We’ll make it back to the city by noon.”

*

Gwaine’d been sure that when they left the clearing, they’d be leaving the blackbird behind with it. Instead it jumps and flies up onto Gwaine’s horse, clearly getting itself settled in. “What can you do,” he mutters, and he follows the rest of the company back to the city.

*

They reach the city gates just after noon. Their patrol had been cut short by a few days, but a scout would have seen them coming and told Arthur to expect their arrival, so he’s waiting for them in the courtyard. Gwaine sees the slip in his expression — grief, resignation — when he finishes the headcount. 

Before dismounting, Gwaine shoos the blackbird off of the saddle. It had stuck with Gwaine on the horse the entire way, although it had tried again to fly in short bursts while they took a break mid morning. From the ground, it stares up at Gwaine, twisting its head this way and that. “Welcome to the Citadel,” Gwaine tells it. “You might be one of a kind, here.”

It doesn’t respond, of course. But Gwaine’s never thought animals to be dumb, and there’s a thoughtfulness in the bird’s gaze that makes him want to keep talking to it, that makes him think it’s truly listening to him. 

It turns away and flies towards Gaius’ tower. 

_Well, shit._ Gwaine watches it fly off with an incredulous look, hands on his hips. _The bugger_ can _fly._

*

“What happened?” Arthur asks them, his fingers steepled and gaze focused on the table in front of him. He’s lost the unreadable touch to his expression, now that they’re behind the closed doors of his chambers. Only Leon and Gwaine were asked to give him a report. 

Leon does most of the talking. It doesn’t take long to tell him about the state of the village and what happened. 

“We’ll have to send another patrol to help clean up the village,” Arthur sighs. He looks to Gwaine. “There were no survivors?”

Gwaine shakes his head. “None in the village. If there were any, hopefully they managed to escape through the woods.”

Arthur nods, mouth set in a grim line. “We can only hope,” he says quietly, leaning back in his chair. He rubs his hand over his face. “I’m going to have to write to Sir Oswald’s and Timothy’s families.”

“I’m sorry, Sire,” Gwaine says before he can stop himself. “I can do it, in your stead.”

Arthur scrutinizes Gwaine, a slight furrow in his brow. Gwaine curses his own tongue. 

“No, Gwaine. That’s not necessary, this is my duty.” He gets up out of his seat and walks around the table to where Gwaine is sitting. He lays a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder. “But thank you. And the blame isn’t on you. The men knew there were risks when they became knights.”

“You’ll take care of their families, won’t you?” Again, a slip of the _fucking_ tongue. _You’re too tired,_ he thinks to himself, clenching his jaw. _You’re giving too much away._

“Of course,” Arthur tells him. His tone isn’t offended, leaning more towards surprise. “We always take care of their families, Gwaine.”

“Good,” Gwaine chokes out. He ducks his head and runs a hand over his jaw, anxiety making it impossible to keep still. “That’s good,” he repeats, and shrugs Arthur’s hand off of his shoulder as he stands. “If you’ll excuse me, Sire.”

*

He’d hoped that he’d be able to find Merlin and pull him aside for an hour-long distraction from _everything,_ but when he knocks on the door to his and Gaius’ chambers, he’s only greeted by the physician. 

And it turns out, things really can get worse: Merlin is missing. 

“He isn’t _missing,_ ” Gaius tells him, tone on the edge of exasperation. “You’re just being dramatic. He’s not supposed to be back from his errand for another few days at least. And then you can probably expect him to also run late, you know how he is.”

Gwaine holds back a sigh. It’s the patrol that was cut short, so if everything had gone to schedule, they would have both arrived back at the city around the same time. 

A tapping at the window gets both of their attention. “Oh, shoo!” Gaius yells, heaving himself up and away from the table. He picks up his broom on the way to the window as if he’s going to swat the bird away with it. “Honestly, where did the bird come from? I haven’t seen a blackbird in Camelot in years. It’s been tapping at the window all day — such a nuisance, honestly.”

Sure enough, when Gwaine peeks around Gaius to look at the window, the blackbird is there, tapping away as though knocking to come in. “Ah, right,” Gwaine smiles a little sheepishly when Gaius turns to look at him. “I found him on the patrol. I tried leaving him in the woods, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. So he came back with me to Camelot.”

It’s odd, Gwaine can admit, that the bird had stuck with him all the way back to Camelot. But Gaius actually puts down his broom and looks at Gwaine as though he’s told him about a puzzle that needs solving rather than a silly story about a tired, clumsy blackbird.

“Is that so?” Gaius asks, turning to look at the bird at the window again. “Tell me, Gwaine, where did you say you found this bird?”

“In the Forest of Brechfa,” Gwaine answers, a little confused. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no,” Gaius replies, waving his hand dismissively. “Nothing wrong. But I think that I might retire for the night. I’ve a very early start tomorrow, I’ve a medicine that needs to be prepared much before dawn.”

“Alright,” Gwaine stands up, still confused. “I won’t keep you up any longer, then.”

“Have a good night, Gwaine,” Gaius tells him with a smile. “Oh! Wait one moment, before you leave,” Gaius turns and shuffles over to his cabinets, riffling through the bottles and jars until he finds the one he wants. “Here, I nearly forgot. It’s for bruises,” he tells Gwaine with an arched brow. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you’re favouring your left side.”

Gwaine gives Gaius a guilty smile, but is touched that he noticed, anyways. “Thanks, Gaius. I’ll be on my way, then.”

Gwaine shuts the door to Gaius’ chambers, but he’s still able to hear the old man open the creaking window and say, _“_ Honestly, the trouble you manage to find _.”_

*

In his own chambers, Gwaine lies awake and stares up at the ceiling. It’s well past midnight now, and he doesn’t know why he can’t sleep. He thought he’d be happy to finally be in his own bed, that he’d feel more at ease with time to unwind. He flips over and eyes the empty side of the bed. _‘Course you’re off on your own little quest,_ he thinks. _Should’ve waited for me to come back so we’d have an excuse to go together._

Nothing to do about it now but wait and wallow and maybe go down to the tavern. Gwaine groans and rolls onto his back, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. _Get over it. Get_ over _it. There was nothing I could do beyond what I did._

There’s a tapping at Gwaine’s window. 

Gwaine bolts upright and whips around, surprised. It’s the little blackbird he’d found in the woods.“Oh,” he breathes, shoulders dropping in relief. “It’s just you.”

Gwaine gets up out of bed and goes to pry the window open. “How’d you find my window?” 

The bird drops from the sill onto the table by Gwaine’s bedside, and hops over onto the second pillow on his bed.

“That’s Merlin’s pillow,” he tells it, hands on his hips. The bird just shuffles a little and settles right in, turning itself into a small, black ball of feathers. It squints at Gwaine with one eye.

“Alright then,” he says, not bothering to fight it. _What can you fucking do, indeed,_ he thinks, as he climbs back into bed. “You needed a name anyhow, since you’re clearly sticking around.”

Gwaine sighs and listens to the little bird breathe, thinks that when he focuses enough, he can even hear its heart fluttering in its chest. “Better not poke my eyes out while I sleep,” he mumbles, and drifts off into sleep. 

_*_

Two days later, Gwaine finds himself sitting in on a council meeting. He’s a few seats down from Arthur, with Gaius and Leon between them. He does his best to listen to everything being said, to listen to the arguments between lords about the unfairness of the taxes; sometimes Gwaine has the energy to speak his mind, but today — _lords,_ he’s reminded of all of the reason why he hated nobles. 

They’re barely a season out of a reign of terror, hundreds of lives were lost, there is no more money for taxes. Gwaine curls his hands into fists in his lap. _Why are they never satisfied?_

“There will be no raising taxes, we are fine as we are. The people have suffered enough and are trying to get back on their feet,” Arthur says, not for the first time today. There’s an edge to his tone that implies his patience is hanging on by a thread. “Clearly we will be getting nowhere today. Council is adjourned until tomorrow.” 

The lords and councilmen — save for a select few — grumble about being dismissed early, but they all bow respectfully enough and rise from their chairs. Gwaine leans back in his chair with a sigh of relief, completely unapologetic. 

Elyan snickers at him from Gwaine's right. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Please, remind me of a _worse_ council meeting,” Gwaine replies, knowing full well Elyan _can’t._

Sure enough, Elyan stays quiet — Gwaine smirks at him and kicks out of his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “No training today, Princess?”

“No,” Arthur sighs, still seated in his chair. He looks a little tired, but Gwaine doesn’t blame him — doesn’t envy him, either. “Gods, there’s so much to do. I have no idea how I’m going to be able to convince them all it’s the right thing to do to keep the taxes low beyond telling them _it’s the right thing to do.”_ Arthur turns to look at Gwen, who gives him a sympathetic smile and takes his hand. “But I’ll figure something out.”

“Of course,” Gwen says. “And I’m sure that when he gets back, Merlin will have some ideas, too.” 

Arthur nods, although it looks like it hurts him to do so. He turns to Gaius and asks “Isn’t he supposed to be back by now?”

“Not for another few days, no Sire,” Gaius says easily. “Unfortunately it might take him up to a week more.”

_That_ makes Gwaine look up sharply. That’s not what Gaius told him just two days earlier. Gwaine was of the same mind as Arthur, expecting Merlin to be back in the city today. 

“Did his errand change at the last minute?” Arthur asks with a frown. “I thought he was only collecting herbs in the Forest of Brechfa.”

“Oh, yes, that didn’t change,” Gaius replies. “But since the weather is good, and with the end of Summer upon us, we both figured that it would be better to get as much supplies that he can carry.”

It’s reasonable, and clearly Arthur doesn’t think twice when he nods in begrudging acceptance, but Gwaine wants to know a little bit more since something about it just isn’t clicking. Before he can ask, though, everyone turns at the sudden clanging of metal on stone.

“Oh!” A girl — kitchen maid, blonde hair, _Catherine,_ Gwaine thinks — squeaks in alarm, hands to her chest. She stares at everyone still in the room with wide eyes, face flushed. A pitcher rolls on the floor, red wine staining the stone. “I’m terribly sorry, milords, milady — I’ll clean this up immediately and go fetch some replacements — but the bird scared me, is all.”

“The bird?” Percival asks, standing and straining his neck to look. 

“Oh, Merlin, there you are,” Gwaine exclaims. He bounds towards the front of the room where the bird is perched at the top of Arthur’s throne, quirking its head this way and that way. 

“What did you say?” Gaius demands. When Gwaine looks over, he sees that Gaius is a few shades paler. 

“Uh,” he scoops Merlin up and drops him onto his shoulder, a little taken aback. “Right. I named the bird Merlin. Merlin Bird.”

“You did _what?”_ Arthur asks, incredulous. “What possessed you to think _that_ was a good idea?”

“What?” Gwaine says, feeling a little defensive. “He looks a little like Merlin, don’t you think?”

He peeks over at Gaius, who is still a little too pale but is leaning against the wall as though relieved — _strange —_ and shrugs. “He reminds me of Merlin.”

On his shoulder, Merlin Bird wobbles with Gwaine’s shrug. It’s too late to catch him, so he tumbles to the ground in a mess of flailing wings. 

Arthur grimaces. “Alright,” he admits. “I can see how you’d figure a clumsy, voiceless blackbird could be named Merlin. Figures that you find the only bird in the kingdom that doesn’t ever do what it’s expected to do.”

“Well, that’s not very fair,” Gwaine replies, leaning down to help stand the bird upright. “I think he’s excellent company.”

Arthur snorts. “That doesn’t mean much. The company you keep in your spare time isn’t exactly high quality, Gwaine.”

Gwaine hides a grimace _—_ sometimes Arthur’s pratliness still manages to shine through. “Don’t make fun of Percival like that, Princess,” Gwaine scolds. “You know how sensitive he is.” 

“Oi.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a smile. “Go on, get out of my sight. And take your bird with you.”

*

“I only ever remember seeing blackbirds when I went traveling to other kingdoms with Morgana. They really do have the loveliest song,” Gwen is saying, cooing at Merlin Bird on Gwaine’s shoulder. “I wonder why this one was in the Forest of Brechfa.”

“Probably got lost,” Gwaine replies, not really paying attention. Gaius has been avoiding Gwaine the past few days, which is unusual — he understands that the man is busy, especially without Merlin around to help, but he’s never gone out of his way to not see Gwaine at all. 

Gwen hums lowly, a thoughtful look on her face. “The gold really is so striking,” she says, a little wistful. “Do you think they do carry magic? Like Uther believed?”

He quirks a brow at her in surprise. “You would question Uther’s beliefs? His actions?” 

She turns her head to look ahead, expression unreadable. They walk in silence for a little while, Gwen’s hands clasped in front of her. “He’s a beautiful bird,” she says. “But… he really is only a bird, isn’t he?”

“Aye,” Gwaine answers, and Merlin Bird plucks at his hair. He realizes that Gwen didn’t actually answer his question about Uther’s beliefs, but he supposes that can happen another day. “He’s just a bird.”

*

Merlin doesn’t return within the week.

Gwaine is a little concerned now, since whatever’s keeping Merlin away _for ten whole days_ must be serious, but whenever he catches a glimpse of Gaius, the man never seems to be in any kind of panic. The news does, however, put a grim expression on Arthur’s face. He’s quick to order the knights to prepare for a patrol. “We’ll leave tomorrow at first light,” he tells them before being dragged off by some lord that wants to speak to him about this year’s harvest. 

Gwaine has been ready to ride out for a few days now, since if Arthur hadn’t ordered them to all go searching together, he’d’ve done it himself, so he decides to take his free afternoon to try and find Gaius. 

Three hours later, and he honestly has no idea where else he could look. _How on earth does the man keep avoiding me?_

He ends up on the citadel steps, watching the people head home for the night. Gaius’ tower is still dark — Gwaine can see the window from where he’s sitting — and there is still no sign of the old man returning to the citadel. Gwaine drops his head onto his knees and sighs. 

There’s a fluttering of feathers on his left, and some sharp taps on the toe of his boot. “Ah, Merlin Bird,” he says, not bothering to lift his head. “How nice to see you.”

The blackbird keeps tapping, as if to say _you haven’t technically seen anything yet,_ and Gwaine turns his head to glare at the little bird. As soon as he does, though, he has to jump back because he jumps up onto Gwaine’s knee. “And what would you like? I’ve never met a more demanding bird.” Gwaine hasn’t met any other bird, really. “But you are a sight for sore eyes, I suppose.”

He leans back on his hands and watches the courtyard again. Merlin Bird turns to watch, too. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Gaius is, do you?”

Merlin Bird puffs up a little. “No, I guess not,” Gwaine heaves a sigh. “All I want to know is if he’s alright. Gaius is a good liar, you know. If I hadn’t already spoken to him before about when Merlin is coming back, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it.

“But now he avoids me like the plague, and of course I’m going to worry. Merlin always gets himself into the worst kind of trouble,” Gwaine tells the blackbird, and he can’t help the fondness that creeps in. “He’s your namesake, you know. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Merlin Bird is still, staring at Gwaine with dark eyes. It’s another moment where he’s struck by the thoughtfulness of the bird. “You really do remind me of him.”

It’s another minute or so before Merlin Bird turns around and flies away, heading for the lower towns. 

*

Later that night, someone knocks on Gwaine’s door. Gaius is standing on the other side, a resigned look on his face. “Hello, Gwaine,” he greets with a small smile. 

Gwaine frowns but doesn’t say anything and steps aside to let him in. He shuts the door behind Gaius. 

“Well?” 

Gaius sighs, clasping his hands in front of him. “I know you have questions, Gwaine —”

“You only need to answer one, Gaius.”

He looks up in surprise. “Oh?”

“Do I need to be worried?” Clearly Gaius knows what’s happening and is keeping it a secret. Gwaine doesn’t think that Gaius would betray Arthur or Camelot, that much was shown to be true when he was kidnapped by Agravain and Morgana — which means that whatever it is that Gaius is hiding has to do with Merlin’s safety.

And the bad things just won’t ever end, will they? Gwaine knows that Merlin goes off to do his own thing, to help in the ways he knows how, and he _knows_ that Merlin can handle himself. But he’s never had to sit around and _wait_ before, not for this long, not without the castle being burned to the ground or being kept busy with his own fight and mission. 

So he thinks that it’s only fair that he knows whether or not Merlin is safe. That he honestly is just running late doing whatever secret thing he does.

The look Gaius gives him is one of begrudging respect. He holds Gwaine’s gaze, searching for any kind of — _hells, dishonesty?_ Gwaine doesn’t know — but then Gaius nods, and he drops his hands to his sides. “No, Gwaine,” he tells him. “You don’t need to be worried. Merlin is as safe as he can be right now.”

“You’re working on something,” Gwaine realizes. “And Merlin is helping?”

Gaius smiles at that, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “To the best of his abilities.”

*

“Does Merlin always take these trips alone?” Percival asks, curious. 

Arthur grimaces. “He refuses to take a knight.”

“You don’t _order_ him to take one?” Elyan asks, surprised. 

“Oi, Merlin can take care of himself,” Gwaine interjects, a little offended on Merlin’s behalf. Now that he knows Merlin is safe — to whatever degree — he’s feeling much more chipper this morning. Merlin Bird sits atop his mare’s head, waiting for Gwaine to settle into the saddle. 

_“Usually,”_ Arthur agrees. “And going to collect herbs doesn’t really invite a lot of attention. And being late is completely normal for the idiot, so again — _usually,_ this is fine. But…” Arthur runs his hand through his hair, concern clear on his face. “I don’t like that a whole mercenary group was roaming the borderlands without our knowledge.”

The rest of the party falls into a grim silence and hurries to finish organizing their packs and mount their horses. 

Gwaine climbs up and gets settled, reaching forward to give his mare a scratch behind the ears. Merlin Bird leaps towards Gwaine, getting feathers in his mouth and up his nose as he tries to get a grip on Gwaine’s shoulder. 

Elyan laughs at him. “I think the bird fancies you, Gwaine.”

Merlin Bird holds his wings open for balance, unable to stand properly on Gwaine’s armour. He tilts his head to the side and sputters a bit to get Merlin Bird’s feathers out of the way. “What can I say?” He replies with a grin. “My charm knows no human limitations.”

Elyan rolls his eyes. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” 

“It’s a talent,” Gwaine insists and scoops Merlin Bird into the neck of his armour. 

Merlin Bird manages to squeeze himself into the space between the collar of Gwaine’s armour and his neck, tucking himself underneath Gwaine’s hair. “I suppose you’re coming along, then?”

“Honestly, you’re almost as bad as Merlin,” Arthur says, nudging his horse to come up next to Gwaine’s. “You get yourself mixed up with the strangest things.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad,” Gwaine shrugs with his free shoulder. 

“If you say so,” Arthur replies, doubtful. He turns to the rest of the knights. “Everyone ready? Let’s go.”

*

In the late afternoon of their second day out, they come across a small druid camp.

Arthur is careful when approaching the camp and motions for the rest of them to put away their weapons. He makes plenty of noise in order to announce their presence. “Hello?” He dismounts at the edge of the camp, but the clearing is empty. Fires smoulder around the camp and there are no signs of people being present. “We mean you no harm. But if there is anyone here, I would like to ask a question.”

A twig snaps on the opposite side of the camp. An older man steps forward, wearing a dark robe with his hood pulled up. 

On Gwaine’s shoulder, Merlin Bird starts flapping his wings like a madman. _“Hey,”_ he hisses, grabbing at him. _“Shush,_ what is wrong with you?” 

But the bird doesn’t relax, not until he’s held firmly between Gwaine’s hands. He seems to sag in the hold, and the druid casts a disdainful look their way. _Well, fuck you too,_ Gwaine thinks, and smiles at him.

The druid narrows his eyes at Gwaine, but turns to look at Arthur.“What would you like to know, Arthur Pendragon?” 

Arthur doesn’t show any signs of being surprised that the man knows his name; Gwaine assumes that it was a matter of life or death for a lot of druids to be able to recognize a Pendragon. 

He steps forward and asks in a clear voice, “A friend of mine was sent on an errand this way. He was expected to return to the city over three days ago. Have you seen a lone traveller recently? He’s tall, with dark hair, and wears a coloured neckerchief and brown jacket.”

The druid frowns in thought. “Hm,” he turns to the trees. “Laila, have you encountered anyone in the forest while you were collecting wood?”

They all turn as a young woman stepped out of the trees to join the older man, shaking her head. “No, elder.” She turns to face Arthur, face pale but shoulders back and head held high. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I haven’t seen your friend.”

Arthur presses his lips together to hide his disappointment, but something about this is rubbing Gwaine the wrong way. _Where are you at, Merlin? What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into?_ But it’s clear that the only thing he _can_ do right now is trust Gaius, and trust that Merlin knows what he’s doing. 

“Thank you,” Arthur tells the druids, bowing his head. “If you do see him, I would appreciate it if you could tell him to return to Camelot as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” the older man replies. 

“Won’t you share our fire for the evening?” Laila asks, gesturing them to the hearth. “We would be honoured to share our meal with you.”

The older Druid shoots her a narrow-eyed glare that the knights don’t miss — Gwaine shifts a bit on his feet, and Elyan steps in closer to Arthur. 

Arthur notices the tension. “No,” he refuses. “But thank you. We must get on our way, and there’s still daylight for us to continue our search.”

“We wish you luck, Arthur Pendragon,” The druid elder tells him. Gwaine doesn’t really like his tone, but the man hasn’t actually done anything to insult them so Gwaine holds his tongue. “I’m sure your servant is fine.”

Arthur pauses, a strange look on his face. “I didn’t mention he was my servant.”

Laila shoots the older man a wide-eyed look, but he’s not fazed. “It was not hard to guess,” he shrugs. “You would be surprised by what we hear coming from Camelot. Your servant is almost as famous as you are.”

The look on his face when he says it reminds Gwaine of the night a few weeks ago, when Merlin sat across from Gwaine and was lit by warm candlelight and said, _You’d be surprised by what goes unnoticed around here._ Gwaine can feel his frustration starting to rise once more, the knowledge that there is _something more_ just out of reach, just beyond his understanding — this man knows something, Gwaine is sure. But without the chance to ask him the _right_ questions… 

“Well.” Arthur scrunches up his nose, although Gwaine doesn’t know if it’s because they’re leaving with no more information, or if it’s because he’s just heard someone say _servant_ and _famous_ in the same breath. “We’ll take our leave.”

Arthur steps back and turns to his horse, and Gwaine and the rest of the knights get their horses to start backing out of the clearing and wait for Arthur’s cue. 

Arthur reaches up to the saddle as though he’s about to jump up, but stops before he does. He ducks his head with a sigh, and faces the druids once more. “I have one more question,” he tells them.

The druids share a glance, but the elder nods his head. “Yes?”

“There’s a sorcerer — that I wish to find. He’s helped Camelot more than once. His name is Emrys.”

Gwaine knows as soon as Arthur said it that it was a mistake. Laila’s complexion loses the little colour it had, and the man’s expression turns cold. Clearly they know who this Emrys is, and they’re no fans of his.

_“Emrys,”_ the druid hisses. “I know of him, yes. A useless figure of prophecy.”

Arthur’s brows shoot up. “I don’t know anything about a prophecy, but —”

“Ha!” The druid laughs, bitter and mean. “Even more reason to think him useless, then — He’s been by your side for years, and still he hasn’t told you a thing about your destiny.” He shakes his head. “Emrys is the most powerful warlock to walk the earth; past, present, and future. He is prophesied to be the saviour of all magical beings, of all people of Albion — and where is he?”

Arthur clenches his jaw. “Well, that’s what I’m trying to _find out —”_

“Why? You wish to thank him? You want me to believe that you, a Pendragon, have had a change of heart?” He looks to each of the knights in turn, disgust clear in every line of his face. He lingers on Gwaine and Merlin Bird, but in the end he comes back around to Arthur. “You think simply not killing us for existing is change enough? You think that even all of these years later, Emrys is enough?

“Emrys is as useful to me as your songbird is to you,” he says to the group. “What use is the son of the sea and the sky if he doesn’t use his magic to change the tide? He’s a songbird with no voice.”

*

They come back to Camelot before the city gates close on the third night of their search. The rest of the knights and Arthur are all wearing grim expressions, and none of them have said a word since they left the forest before dusk — Gwaine knew that they wouldn’t find Merlin, but no one else did

They’re greeted in the courtyard by Gwen and some stablehands ready to take the horses for the knights. Arthur dismounts and goes to Gwen, wrapping his arms around her waist. Gwaine can’t hear what he’s saying to her, but Gwen presses her lips together and ducks her head, holding tight to Arthur’s hands. 

_Whatever this is,_ Gwaine thinks, _Gaius better think it’s worth it._

“I… I can’t leave the castle for another three days like this,” Arthur says, turning around to face the rest of them. “The council wasn’t happy I went on _this_ search in the first place.”

“We can go out again tomorrow, Sire,” Elyan says. “Unless you need us in the council meeting?”

“No,” Arthur shakes his head. “No, you’re not needed tomorrow. Elyan, Percival, if you would ride out again tomorrow morning?”

Percival and Elyan both nod. “Of course.”

Arthur smiles at them in gratitude. “Thank you. You’re dismissed, go and get as much rest as you can, then.”

The two of them leave, walking up the stairs into the castle. Gwaine hands off the reins to his mare, and Merlin Bird leaps from the saddle to perch on his shoulder. He watches his friends go; he wonders what else Arthur has to say to him and Leon.

“The families of Sirs Oswald and Timothy have arrived this afternoon,” he tells them. Gwaine has a sudden sinking feeling in his gut. “There will be a funeral tomorrow morning. I expect you both to attend.” 

“Of course, Arthur,” Leon bows his head. “Do we need to help with the preparations?”

“No,” Arthur waves him off. “Just be there,” he says, and then turns to Gwaine. “Sober, please.”

Gwaine pastes on a smile. “I’m always sober,” he replies. “I haven’t been drunk in nearly a decade.”

“Tomorrow morning,” Arthur reiterates. “Be there.”

*

With no bodies to burn, only Sir Oswald and Sir Timothy’s cloaks are atop the funeral pyre. 

Gwaine’s gaze keeps shifting from the fire to Merlin Bird, perched on a wall sconce across the courtyard. He can’t let himself look at Sir Timothy’s mother; Gwaine has yet to see her without tears streaming down her face, although she hasn’t made a sound. Sir Oswald’s mother is dry-eyed and pale, holding tight to her youngest son’s hand. The boy doesn’t look much older than eight. 

There’s nothing really keeping the pile standing anymore. Gwaine’s stupid fucking pile of _things we don’t think about —_ here they all are, burning on the pyre: guilt, shame, grief, helplessness. Once upon a time these things didn’t trouble him so much _—_ He had knelt in that empty hall and for a moment was full of pride, seeing Merlin smile at him like that, thinking _he’s proud of me, I’ve done something_ good _—_ but the red cloak he wears now isn’t so much a symbol as is it a contract. Gwaine wants to leave. He wants to leave _now,_ but he can’t.

He can’t keep those under his command alive, he can’t help Merlin with whatever secret quest he’s on, he can’t even do more than win a mouldy piece of bread for Gaius and Elyan to share —

But that was months ago. _That was_ months ago, _gods above —_

“Gwaine, are you alright?” 

He doesn’t know who asks, doesn’t turn to look. “Nah,” he says, swaying a little on his feet. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

*

He didn’t end up throwing up, but he did have to sit in the dark for an hour before his head stopped pounding. 

And now he’s been beating the shit out of a training dummy with his sword for gods know how long, sweat pouring down his face and back, pushing himself until he can’t think about anything besides his sword and his target. 

He steps back, panting, and pushes the hair out of his face. When he looks up at the sky he finds that it’s already nearly dusk. “Fuck,” he chokes out, thrusting his sword into the ground. 

A canteen lands on the ground in front of him. Gwaine jerks his head up to see Arthur standing a few meters away, an inscrutable expression on his face. Merlin Bird is on the ground next to him, watching. Gwaine leans down to pick up the canteen in silence and nearly drains the whole thing. 

“Are you done?” Arthur asks.

Gwaine tosses the canteen back to him. “I guess so.”

Arthur nods and gestures back towards the castle with his head. “Come on.”

*

Arthur glares at Merlin Bird, who’s picking his way through the fruits on the table. “I don’t know why you put up with this thing,” he says, swatting at him to get off the table. Merlin Bird puffs up his feathers and hops over to sit by Gwaine. “All it does is be a nuisance.”

“Why do I have to defend keeping him around?” Gwaine asks, keeping his tone even to hide his annoyance. “Do you only keep things around because they’re useful to you?”

Arthur gives him an incredulous look. “Gwaine. It’s only a _bird.”_

He shrugs. “So that means he’s worthless?What have I lost, taking him in?” Gwaine asks, and takes a swig from his cup. “Everyone seems concerned that he’s a songbird that doesn’t sing. It’s not as though I knew the sound of his song before I picked him up. Why would I only take him in if I was only waiting for him to do something ‘useful,’ or something that he’s _expected_ to do? I haven’t _lost_ anything, I’ve gained a companion — Sure, an odd one — but —”

“Gwaine,” Arthur interrupts. Usually Gwaine would ignore it and keep going, but something about Arthur’s tone makes him pause. “Gwaine, I never said anything about the bird being _useless.”_

“Ah,” Gwaine ducks his head, feeling all of a sudden like he’s been cornered. _You’ve gone and revealed a little too much, Gwaine. Again._ “I guess you didn’t, did you?”

Arthur leans back in his chair. “You know, I didn’t actually bring you up here so that we could talk about the bird.”

“Merlin Bird,” Gwaine corrects. Arthur rolls his eyes.

“You’ve been irritable, and angry,” Arthur points out. “I would almost go as far as to say you’ve been _moping,_ which is out of character for you.

“I thought you were just missing Merlin, which… At first, I didn’t really know _why,_ honestly I celebrate the few days of peace and quiet I get when he’s running errands for Gaius, but once it got to the point where he was gone _too_ long, I could understand.”

Arthur looks down at his hands, traces the bottom of his cup with his fingers. “But that’s not the only thing, either, is it? And I thought the bird was unconnected, but that’s part of it, too.”

_Aha, you fucker,_ Gwaine thinks to himself. _You have been perceived._

“It’s easy, caring for him,” Gwaine says, eventually. He can’t look at Arthur, so he keeps his gaze on Merlin Bird in his lap. “I feed him, and give him a place to sleep, and he’s happy. Don’t you feel better when you can take care of something? When you can be useful?”

Gwaine _knows_ he does. When Arthur’s in a foul mood, it can usually be traced back either to something to do with Merlin or something that’s made him feel helpless. 

Gwaine also knows that there isn’t really anything worse than feeling helpless. 

“Being held captive by Morgana…” Gwaine starts, curling his hands into fists in his lap. “Wasn’t very nice.” He glances up at Arthur, whose expression has turned somber and a little heartbroken. “I guess that’s putting it lightly. I wasn’t… personally tortured, like Elyan was, but being made to play like Morgana’s fighting bitch for a piece of mouldy bread, day after day — something about it just,” he makes a gesture at his head, “tipped the scales, or something.

“I’d been excited to go on patrol. Things were looking up, I’d be able to get out for a little bit. Obviously, it didn’t really turn out to be such a great time, and…” Gwaine offers Arthur a grim smile.

“…And the scales were tipped again,” Arthur finishes, looking down at the table. He’s quiet for a moment, a thoughtful frown on his face. “I understand the feeling. Especially after the past year. The battles keep coming, the obstacles, the _betrayals —_ they never seem to end.” He meets Gwaine’s eyes, a determined look on his face. “But we have to keep going. And I know how sometimes even the smallest things can help make that better.”

They sit in comfortable silence, and once Gwaine empties his cup, he looks up to give Arthur a strained smile. “It’s a pretty big adjustment, you know.”

Arthur quirks a brow in question.

“You might think ‘Oh, it’s already been a year since these common men joined my ranks’ — but I’m still thinking _it’s only been a year._ I’m only one year out of only having to take care of myself, of not having a home, of having no one relying on me except for my horse. I spent over a decade on my own, Arthur. All because my father died fighting Caerleon’s battle, and he’d not given a fuck that his knight’s wife and children would be left to starve if he didn’t help them.”

Gwaine can read the dawning realization on Arthur’s face easily enough. “That’s why you asked —”

“Yes,” Gwaine cuts him off. “That’s why I asked. It was rude of me, I should have known better —”

“No,” Arthur says. “It’s fine. I understand why you would ask, and I’m not offended you did.” He studies Gwaine, sympathy in his eyes. “Son of a knight, huh?”

“Story for another time,” Gwaine replies, with a forced smile. Merlin Bird is a comforting weight on his thigh. He gestures to the single pitcher on the table. “A time with much more wine than this, anyhow.”

*

Later that night, when Gwaine is in bed and Merlin Bird is in his usual spot on Merlin’s pillow, he says, “I don’t care that you don’t sing.

“Or maybe it’s that you _can’t_ , for whatever reason. It doesn’t matter. You’re good. You’re not useless. You’re doing your best.”

*

Gwaine dreams.

He walks out of the castle, down through the lower town and continues on out the gates. The land beyond isn’t familiar: it’s lush and green and overgrown with wildflowers. The colour of everything is a little _off —_ too saturated, seeming to glow from within, from the earth. The sky is clear and full with more stars than Gwaine has ever seen.

He keeps walking.

The trees are low, full enough that all of their branches come together to create a canopy, slivers of moonlight creeping through. Gwaine thinks that there are things watching him from above, but he can’t turn his head to look. 

He comes to a small clearing. Merlin is there.

He’s standing with his back to Gwaine, head tilted up to look at the stars. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine breathes out. He isn’t surprised to see him here. He tries to take a step forward, even to reach out with his arms, but he — can’t. 

“Do you believe that?”

“What?” Gwaine asks. He doesn’t know what Merlin is talking about, and if he could only just _move —_

“What you said, earlier — that even though it’s not what people expect of me, or if I can’t do what they want me to do — I’m still good?”

Gwaine wishes Merlin would turn around. “Yes.”

“But it’s still not enough,” Merlin says, ducking his head. Gwaine wants so badly to go to him, to hold Merlin’s face in his hands and lean in — 

“It is,” Gwaine insists. “You’re enough, Merlin.”

“I’m not. You can’t say that, Gwaine, not without _knowing —_ There are people out there who are waiting for me to make changes, to bring about a new era, to save —”

“Why you?” Gwaine asks. “Why only you?” It strikes Gwaine as odd, that Merlin says all of these things as though they apply to only himself. As if there isn’t already a _king,_ that there aren’t knights that would follow Merlin in a heartbeat, trust him with their lives.“Where are these people that ask this of you without offering any help in return?”

Merlin’s shoulders droop. “They’ve suffered enough. I… it’s the least I can do,” he kicks the ground at his feet. “It’s my destiny.”

“Destiny’s a bitch,” Gwaine retorts. Off in the distance, lightning strikes the ground, seemingly from nothing. Merlin laughs. 

“You shouldn’t say that about her,” he tells Gwaine. “She’s quite stubborn and easily offended.”

“That’s not surprising.” And even though Gwaine has never really thought about _destiny_ before, he really isn’t surprised she’s got her claws in Merlin. Always running after something just beyond everyone’s reach, always keeping his heart closely guarded. 

“Merlin,” Gwaine repeats. “You’re enough. More than enough, and more than I could ever deserve.”

Merlin finally turns, eyes wide and golden. Gwaine doesn’t find that surprising, either. “You — _I_ don’t deserve _you.”_

The look on his face — Gwaine bends at the waist with the force of his laughter, Merlin’s shock having broken the spell keeping Gwaine still. When he finally looks up, Merlin is there, and he lifts his hands to cup Gwaine’s cheeks, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “You actually believe that. That I’m more than you deserve.”

“Merlin,” Gwaine laughs. “There’s nothing in the world that I love more than you.”

Merlin stares at him in shock, and Gwaine wonders if he’s really never acted in a way that would make Merlin certain of his affection — _that has to be changed immediately_ — but before he can say anything else, Merlin leans in to kiss Gwaine, and there’s nothing else to do but meet him in the middle. Gwaine wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist, lets his hand slip under his shirt to touch warm skin. Merlin’s fingers slide into Gwaine’s hair, and he sighs at the gentle tug he gives it. 

Merlin breaks the kiss but doesn’t go far. He keeps their foreheads touching, and this close Gwaine would swear that Merlin’s eyes do really glow.

“I know what I have to do,” he says. He leans in for one more kiss, a soft press of lips. “Go back to sleep, Gwaine. I’ll be there when you wake up.”

*

It’s still dark when Gwaine wakes, and there’s a familiar weight next to him in bed. 

He rolls over, knowing who it must be but still almost not believing it — 

“Merlin,” he says, breathless and awed and relieved. “You sure do know how to have an identity crisis.”

Merlin smiles a little sheepishly at Gwaine, covers pulled up to his chin. “I was a little scared,” he admits. “I couldn’t turn back. I didn’t know how.”

Gwaine reaches up to touch Merlin’s cheek, to comb his finger through his hair. “But you figured it out?”

“Clearly,” Merlin says, grabbing Gwaine’s hand to twine their fingers together. “It was… simpler than expected.”

“Going to share?” 

“Nope,” Merlin shakes his head. “It’s far too embarrassing and you simply don’t need anything else to tease me about right now.”

“Hm,” Gwaine doesn’t fight the urge to smile. “You did make a cute little bird.”

“If you ever tell Arthur —”

That makes Gwaine laugh, thinking about the look on Arthur’s face when someone tells him _‘Yes, Merlin Bird was_ _actually Merlin, turned into a songbird,’_ and Merlin jabs him in the side. “No, no,” Gwaine promises, grabbing Merlin’s hands and pulling them to his chest. “I won’t. Why does he need to know? I’ll hoard this secret for myself.”

It’s not the only thing he’ll be keeping a secret, and Merlin knows this, too. “Thank you, Gwaine.”

But Gwaine shakes his head. “Anything for you, Merlin. You know this.”

“Anything?” Merlin asks softly. “Then you should listen to yourself more often: you’re doing your best, Gwaine. And I’m proud of everything you’ve done here in Camelot, and I’m so lucky to have you be my friend. I’m so sorry about what happened on that patrol. I know that you cared about those boys.”

Merlin lifts his hand from Gwaine’s chest and cups his face, running the pad of his thumb along the soft skin under his eye. “Even when you were angry and grieving, you still went and picked up an injured, voiceless songbird. You’ve a kind heart, Gwaine. Don’t ever lose that.”

Gwaine shifts a little, uncomfortable again with the sincerity in Merlin’s voice. 

“Don’t,” Merlin chastises, and moves so that he’s tucked to Gwaine’s side, trapping him close. He laughs a little. “I guess this was a lesson in self-worth for both of us, wasn’t it?”

Gwaine presses a kiss to Merlin’s temple. “Why are you so hell-bent on being this self-aware in the middle of the night,” he grumbles. 

“When else?” Merlin asks, yawning. He curls himself closer, turning his head to kiss Gwaine’s chest once, twice. “I love you too, you know,” he says. “So much.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments & Kudos are always appreciated <3


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